


Build me up, Buttercup

by witchertrashbag (intothegarbagechute)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: A little?, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Food Kink, Food Porn, Geralt is a CHEF, Julian is a writer, Lots of Groping, M/M, Not as explored as it could be BUT, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, cocksucking, go with me here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22627549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothegarbagechute/pseuds/witchertrashbag
Summary: Modern AU: Julian's a writer, Geralt's a chef obsessed with the filthy noises Julian makes when he eats his food.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 92
Kudos: 1033
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection, Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I could not help myself and I'm so, so sorry.

Julian tapped at the door to the chic little restaurant owned by his good friend Patricia and was dismayed at the frantic look on her face as she answered the door, her bright red curls bouncing.

"Is everything ok?"

"It's... yeah, it's fine, come on in," she said with a glance behind her.

Julian followed and settled into his usual nook by the back window. He silently slipped his laptop out of his bag and opened it up. Working on his book at Patricia’s restaurant before it opened for the evening was something he’d been doing ever since she’d opened MARIGOLD about a year ago—and he’d been working there later and later over the past few weeks since they’d had to temporarily close after their chef quit.

He looked up at his friend expectantly.

"Trish, you look like a wolf is ransacking your kitchen."

"We got a new chef," she explained at a whisper.

"Congratulations! That's wonderful! How soon will you reopen?"

"About a week," she said tensely.

"...is your new chef a wolf that's ransacking your kitchen?"

"Hmm?" she said, distracted. "Oh, no. He's just... he has a reputation for being temperamental. You know these fancy chefs--"

"Ooh, you got a fancy one, that's great."

"Yeah, fancy culinary school and everything, part of some experimental group, first kitchen was Rivia."

"Will you be serving asparagus cloud here, now?"

"No, nothing like that."

"So he's a diva."

"No!" she insisted. "I really don't know. _Yet_. I'm gonna go see how he's settling in. And please, Julian. Just be quiet?"

A large crash came from the kitchen and Patricia rushed away. Julian raised an eyebrow and got to his work. Rewrites on Chapter 3, new notes from his editor. He pursed his lips, pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses, and focused... for about 30 seconds before another curious noise came from the kitchen.

_What was with this guy, anyway?_

As the afternoon stretched on, Julian found himself less and less focused on his rewrites and more and more intrigued by the happenings in the kitchen. At least once he thought he heard a growl? He tried to focus, even putting in earbuds, but his curiosity was too great. His usually bubbly friend was anxious, his favorite writing spot was ruined. He did not like this new chef at all, he decided.

Just then, Trish emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of tea, a smile on her face. Julian glanced back down at his screen, his eyes glazed over, the afternoon pretty much a waste. Trish settled beside him and sipped at her mug, now almost beaming.

"Well. How's the wolf settling in?

"Great! Great, actually. He doesn't say much, but once we had things reorganized to his liking..." Trish drifted off, and murmured almost to herself, "I think this is gonna be really good for the restaurant." She glanced back at Julian's raised eyebrow. "Besides, the sous chefs are already giddy over him. And not just his food." And then, Julian couldn't believe it, but she winked at him.

"I'm gonna head home."

"No-- please! Stay. We're doing a staff-only test of his new menu tonight. I want you to try it."

"I can't stay that late--"

"I just tried a small taste, here! I'll fix you a quick plate now."

"No, I really--"

"I know you only have ramen packets at home, please, Julian."

"Fine. But don't expect me to like it. Just because he's a diva or a legend or whatever doesn't mean he's good."

Trish just smiled and went to the kitchen. She returned a moment later and set a place setting and plate before Julian.

"What is it?" he asked, impetuous, shifting his head to the side.

"Wild rabbit with foraged mushrooms in an herbed sauce-- it's supposed to have a powerful restorative effect."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It's part of his experimental school-- health foods that are almost medicinal."

"Sounds like bullshit to me," Julian said, lifting a forkful to his mouth. He stopped. Inhaled sharply.

Holy shit. Julian was pretty sure he'd never had anything so wonderful in his mouth (and he'd had quite a few wonderful things in his mouth). The rabbit was tender and lean, the mushrooms perfect and languid, and the sauce! Julian moaned at the taste of it all, the perfect combination of flavors and textures.

Trish just grinned. "I'll leave you to it," she said, and left.

Julian barely noticed, so engrossed was he in this dish. Just thinking about his next bite had him salivating, even as he moaned through the last. The slight char on the meat! The spices! There were even some hastily stewed greens underneath, bringing a sharpness to the earthy-sweet mushrooms. The sounds he was making were absolutely wanton, ringing through the small space, as he ate, eyes closed, having a nearly religious experience.

So he could not see the chef peek out the door to discern who this mystery diner was making such debauched sounds. He didn't hear him walk silently to the table carrying a plate. Not until he heard his rumbly voice:

"Finished?"

It broke through Julian's reverie, gently landing him back on earth. Julian's eyes snapped open and before him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with long white hair pulled back into a low bun exposing a strong, pale neck, a cloth wrapped around his waist over his chef's clothes. In his sturdy hands, he held a tiny bowl, looking even tinier in those big hands, his thick forearms flexed. And on his sharp face played the hint of a smile, a smirk even, across languid lips and eyes that seemed to glow.

"Yes," Julian said, trying to keep his wits about him. He cleared his throat. "It was... good."

The smirk became more pronounced as the man lifted Julian's empty plate away and offered him the bowl.

"Dessert?"

Without waiting for a response, he set the bowl down. "Chocolate mousse, local honey, little mint. Good for digestion."

Julian frowned at that but picked up the bowl and the spoon. But the man didn't leave; he seemed to want to watch Julian eat.

"Thanks," Julian said, hoping that was enough of a hint. It wasn't. So Julian dipped a spoon into the mousse and shoved it in his mouth.

The groan that escaped his lips was nothing short of obscene. He heard himself, glanced up at the smirking fucking demi-god in front of him, and--

"I have to go." He grabbed his things and headed for the door.

But not before snatching up the little bowl of mousse and taking it with him.

\--

That's how things continued for the next few days, as Julian's deadlines loomed and Trish's grand re-opening drew nearer: Julian would arrive just after lunch to work, settling into his nook by the back window. Late into the afternoon, he'd hear a rumble as the mysterious new chef's motorcycle drew nearer. He'd watch him park behind the restaurant, dismounting the bike carelessly with his powerful thighs, pull off his helmet and reveal his dazzling white hair, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, undoubtedly beside some beautiful woman whose name he couldn't remember. 

And that's when Julian's workday ended! Because there was no way he could focus with this mountain of a man, this noisy, grouchy, grumbly, _extremely hot_ man, working right there in the kitchen. His editor was beginning to panic.

And the chef would always come, just before they opened, around 5, and set a new plate before Julian, and somehow every night Julian swore it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. After that first night, the chef would at least go back to the kitchen and let Julian enjoy it in peace-- as peaceful as he could be, trying to stifle the thoroughly wicked sounds the man's food drew out of him. And then Julian would leave, his taste buds and stomach the only parts of him sated.

Because it wasn't only the food.

He dreamt of it, the taste, woke up wondering what culinary pleasure awaited him that early evening. But the more honed and heightened his sense of taste became from all this food, the more the rest of his senses demanded equal stimulation. 

His eyes got it, surely, relishing the chef's strong neck, his thick hands, soft eyes, and the few glances he'd gotten of his sculpted ass-- holy shit. His ears got it: hearing the soft hums of the taciturn man at work on the other side of the wall, the voice that rumbled through his chest as he delivered his dinner each night. His nose: obviously, but he craved more, to be close enough to this man to feel his heat, to smell him and let that scent envelop him.

Julian was absolutely starving for touch.

And so when, just two days before the re-opening, he was out with friends for a birthday and his fellow writer and frenemy, the birthday boy, Waldo Marks decided-- very drunk by now-- that he wanted to go to this really shitty hole-in-the-wall gay club they used to go to when they were underage but let in anyway, he couldn't say no. Maybe he'd meet a stranger there and have a wild one-night stand! Julian almost laughed aloud at himself; he'd always been terrified of casual fucks, for one reason only: the embarrassment. What if his friends made fun of him? What if he saw the person again? 

So he walked in with his friends, utterly confident that he would dance the night away, maybe grind against a few strangers, go home, beat one out, and call it a night.

It was very late and the club was already crowded when they arrived, and more ghastly than he'd remembered. The kind of place you'd never want to see in the daylight, let alone blacklight, with just a bar tucked away in a corner, a packed dance floor, and a few screens up above that had strange 70s sci-fi erotica projected upon them. Too many tits for a club filled with people seeking cocks. If you could call it a club. And it was 80s night, which here didn't mean Cyndi Lauper: it meant the Cure, Depeche Mode, and inevitably, somehow, Nine Inch Nails' "Closer."

Julian mimed "drink?" to Waldo, managed to interpret his order over the hard synths, and slipped through the crowd to the bar. But he was finally returning with drinks in hand, he almost dropped them, because:

The chef was there, in the middle of the dance floor, his unbound white hair whipping around him as he danced, flexing in leather pants that clung tightly to those thick thighs and rounded ass. His black linen--? Was that linen? Shirt... or tunic?-- was loose around him, loose enough to see a tease of chest hair dusting an obviously muscled torso. To top it all off, swinging from his neck was a huge silver medallion. And dark eyeliner. He looked absolutely ridiculous, a relic of an earlier time... and somehow still incredibly fucking hot.

Julian hated himself for the heat that shot through his core, straight up his dick and down by his ass, pooling into a low, creeping ache. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the chef as he turned his strong limbs in long, arcing motions. His eyes were unfocused, lost in the music, and yet somehow sharp, like a hunter searching for prey. 

The DJ dropped "Shake the Disease" just as a twink with swoopy brown hair gently picked up the chef's wrist and pressed his ass into his pelvis, wrapping the arm around him and grinding against him. Julian noticed something flick across the chef's face, then he gently but sharply pulled his hand wrist away, extricating himself from this unwanted partner.

Julian swallowed hard, found his friend, and handed him the drink. He couldn't sort this guy out-- his presence here, his outfit, it all suggested queerness, but not for that guy, who-- it had to be said-- looked a lot like Julian. Something in him deflated; a strange, unspoken possibility snuffed out.

Julian reengaged with his friends as best he could, trying not to glance over at the chef's unrestrained dancing. After a few more songs, the group decided to call it and go home. Julian shouted his agreement and suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He turned and found the chef staring at him, his dark-rimmed eyes wide in almost-- astonishment? Then that quiet smile surged on those lips again, and Julian felt the heat rise in his cheek.

"I'll-- don't wait up, I gotta piss," Julian told his friends as they straggled away. But he didn't go to the (it had to be said, vile) restroom. He found himself drawn to the dance floor again. He tried to be casual, as though he weren't dancing directly towards the chef. But they were like magnets, destined to collide.

At least, the chef made sure they did.

Julian suddenly felt a strong, broad hand gently palm at his hip and pull him back against a hard torso. He felt the breath rush out of him at the touch, the proximity. He could _smell_ him, the muskiness of him, like sweat, like smoked meat. Julian became vaguely aware that "Closer" began playing-- _because of fucking course._

And something in the mix of the rowdy night out, the song, and mostly the hand solidly on his hip, tantalizingly close to his dick, feeling the muscled body writhing behind him-- Julian gave into it and started writhing right back. 

And suddenly the chef's other hand was across his chest as he moved his hips against his pelvis, pressing his ass into him, suddenly so desperate to feel him he didn't care how brazen he looked. He leaned back into the chef, raised an arm up and threaded his fingers through that long, white hair. 

He could feel the chef's breath, hot against his throat. More acutely, could feel his hand roaming across Julian's chest, then down and-- _gulp_ \-- under his shirt, his hot hand snaking up to tease at a nipple.

Julian let out a low moan, and the chef's palm held his hips close, grinding them together. He could feel the chef's dick grow hard between his ass cheeks, and fuck-- if they stayed any longer like this he was going to become a begging, babbling mess right here on the dance floor. He'd seen men literally fellate one another here, but he was sure that didn't hold a candle to the picture they painted right now. They could, at the very least, head to the bathroom-- and suddenly his mind was flooded with the image of sucking the chef off in one of those filthy stalls-- and his dick jolted.

So, gathering himself, Julian turned his head to the chef's ear, uttering his only and best pick-up line:

"D'you wanna get outta here?"

He could feel more than hear the groan that rippled through the chef, who nuzzled into his neck. Before he could fully register what was happening, Julian felt them move straight for the door, out, and-- with a quick hail-- the chef managed to flag down a passing cab.

\--

The ride was quiet. Too quiet-- it made Julian's mind start buzzing with what ifs-- what if the chef was having second thoughts? What if he didn't satisfy him? What if this was all some kind of insane prank from Trish? What-- whaaaaaaaaa---

The chef pressed one of those sturdy palms into Julian's inner thigh, and Julian looked at his giant hand, then his square jaw, and suddenly the only thought in his mind was: _him big._ The time passed quickly, then, the chef so slowly stroking Julian's thigh, so secretly their driver couldn't see. He could've asked Julian for head right then and there and he would've been in his lap in a nanosecond. But soon the car stopped and Julian found himself leading this man into his little studio apartment.

"Well," he said, gesturing at the messy room, "this is-- _fhmmpphhhhh_ " he turned and the chef immediately pressed his entire body into Julian's, trapping his lips in a deep kiss. Julian heard the door close behind them, pressed his hands on either side of the man's face as he pressed his tongue into him.

Their kisses were hot, sloppy, and desperate.

The man's hands grabbed his ass, demanding full connection of their groins, pawing and feeling at him. Julian found himself manhandled to his own bed, and then the distance between them increased as the chef pulled away.

Julian watched this man-- _this fucking man_ \-- as he _slowly_ untucked his tunic-whatever-the-renaissance-faire-fuck shirt-- and _slowly_ dragged it up his torso and off. And holy fuck. That sturdiness he had felt pressing against him-- his arms were like saplings, thick and hard. His abs were insane. His pecs-- he had to drag a tongue across them, this very--. Julian didn't even usually go for super muscled guys, but the line of him, the cat-like way he moved, like his body was a weapon, or a tool. Julian desperately wanted to use that tool.

"Oh."

The chef slowly unlaced his leather pants-- Julian hadn’t noticed they laced but ok-- peeled them off his hips, and revealed his dick, hard and ready.

Julian glanced up at him through his lashes. This man had just done... basically a striptease. For him. And it was totally working, Julian thought, and he could think nothing else or do anything else but to sink to his knees before this man.

But the chef stopped him-- Julian still looking up, his mouth partly open and ready, and he knew he must've looked ruined, and he was, ruined by this horrible man. His mouth had already been ruined by him, why not this?

The chef tugged at his sweater, and Julian allowed him to take it and the shirt beneath it off before he grasped the man's cock confidently in his hand, then began the business of sucking him off.

The taste. He had thought his taste-buds were sated. But it felt so sinful to savor this man's dick on his tongue, that little bit of cum; he moaned involuntarily, and it shifted and grew harder in his mouth. 

Julian glanced up and saw the desire streaked across the man's face, felt his cock wanton and weeping in his mouth. He drew his tongue along the bottom, flicked over the tip, and sucked down hard, moaning harder. He loved feeling this wicked.

Soon the chef laced his fingers in his hair-- to fuck his face, Julian thought-- but eased him up off his knees, and before he knew it Julian's pants were off and the man was carefully wrapping a giant palm around his dick, stroking softly. 

Julian sucked in a hiss at the touch, and knew the chef could see the want in his eyes. Funny thing: he could also see how much this man wanted this. He, too, seemed desperate for his touch. 

And so touch he did, running his hands across that gorgeous chest he must've worked so hard for, leaning in to lick at a nipple, enjoying the tiny gasp the man made as he teased it with his teeth. Letting his hands roam down to the man's dick, now so hard and leaking thanks to him. He was just thinking that maybe tomorrow they'd alllll just pretend to forget this happened.

But with one touch, the chef stopped, and so did Julian. The chef leaned in, and in a rough whisper, said, "on the bed." He glanced at Julian, reading him closely, then:

"I wanna make you sound like you do when you're eating my food."

 _Fuck_. Julian choked out a little moan and his dick twitched. He went to his nightstand and grabbed his lube. And then he got on the bed. On all fours, ass up. He opened the bottle--

"Hmm."

He looked back and saw the chef standing, watching him with a stern little frown, almost inspecting him. He stretched out his arm, asking for the bottle.

"You want--" Julian's voice cracked. "You want to...?"

The bastard just grabbed it from him. Julian faced forward, a flush rising across his entire body. He could hear a shuffle of leather and couldn't help but peek to find the man awkwardly peeling his pants off. There was something so quiet and human about it, the honest absurdity of those pants. The next thing he felt took his full attention.

It was the chef's broad hands on his ass, spreading him, and then-- holy shit. Warm breath.

A tongue, dipping inside him, pressing. He whined and squirmed against the pressure, but the chef held him steady. And then, a lubed finger alternating with the tongue, earning a gasp, then a palm on his balls, distracting him from the discomfort. 

The man knew what he was doing. With needy little noises from Julian, he slowly, gently worked his ass open. He left Julian's dick unattended and desperate. Julian reached to touch it, only to get his hand gently swatted away.

"Not yet," grumbled the chef with a malicious, truly evil grin.

Julian felt as a third finger entered and curled inside, hitting his--

" _Oh fuck, oh Jesus fuck, that's--"_

"Hmmmm," came the man's rumbling reply. "Too many words. Am I going to have to gag you?"

Julian groaned at the thought. This man, this horrible man utterly dominating him in his space.

"N--no. Sir?" He tried it on. No reaction. _Okay, just sounds?_ The chef curled against him again and he descended into moans, each one filthier than the last. He felt the hand on his hip grab him more tightly. His moans reached a whiny, fever pitch, begging for more.

He swore he heard the stoic man's breath catch in his throat. Then he heard slicking sounds and the capped bottle of lube plopped onto the bed beside him, followed by a condom wrapper.

A hand smeared the excess lube on his ass, then gripped his hip-- the other pushed his shoulders and face down into the bed. Julian was being used, roughly, and the novelty and debauchery of it surged through him.

He felt the man's dick rest against his asshole, his hands prying his cheeks apart again. He took a deep breath, and the length of the man pressed inside, as much as he could take. Tears came to Julian's eyes, his insides were burning with the friction, his breath was fast and shallow. He gulped in breath and did his best to relax, to let him in.

" _Fuck_ ," spat the man, his voice ragged and wanton. The very idea Julian was having this effect on him eased him-- he found his breath, stopped gripping, and tilted his hips toward him, thrusting against him. That earned him a deep, depraved chuckle that tingled his skin.

So Julian reached behind and grabbed that gorgeous ass, digging fingernails in, urging him forward.

That earned him a _growl._

Suddenly the man was driving into him, fucking him in short thrusts, adjusting his angle every few thrusts until--

Julian released the most desperate moan he'd ever made. If he could've heard himself over the pounding of his heart and the sticky wet slap of the chef's balls and thighs against his...

Then the chef fucking _slowed down_ to a truly torturous, languid pace, pressing into that spot over and over, and Julian was practically singing and begging the way he was moaning and whining into the bed, writhing against his man and his horrible dick.

The moans grew more urgent as Julian felt himself get close, and then the chef gently grabbed his abandoned cock, and with a few quick jerks of his wrist, Julian came hard and loudly, releasing himself to the sound, rolling through his orgasm.

He collapsed into his own cum and felt the chef pull out of him, then ease onto the bed beside him, sitting against the headboard, stroking his hair with one hand as he peeled off the condom with the other.

When Julian opened his eyes, the man's hard cock was right there, waiting. He took it into his mouth at once-- clocked an almost surprised "Hmm" from the chef-- and sucked and licked messily, moaning absolutely wantonly, his hands roaming anywhere they could, pressing against those hard and slightly hairy thighs. He could feel the man's hands entwined in his hair. 

He tried to take the length into his mouth, but with a jerking groan, those giant hands pulled him away and the man came shallowly into his mouth.

With a final "hmm," the man took Julian's chin in his hand and kissed him deeply, swirling his tongue around what Julian hadn't quite swallowed from his mouth. The chef groaned at the taste, deliciously, the sound rippling through both of them as he settled himself on the bed beside Julian, looking thoroughly spent.

He gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, murmured something that sounded suspiciously like " _Buttercup_ ," and promptly fell asleep.

Julian sat up, suddenly wide awake and charged from the night's events. He quietly padded to his bathroom to clean himself up and brush his teeth, only to return and find the chef's limbs sprawled across the entire bed, his back settled into the cum-streaked spot at the center.

Julian sighed and snuggled into his chest and followed him to sleep.

\--

The next morning, he was gone.

 _That checks out,_ Julian thought to himself as his eyes scanned the room, with no trace the chef had ever been there except the ache in his ass and thighs and Julian's own cum still crusted into his sheets.

"And I'll be washing _you_!" he told the sheets.

Julian's phone dinged-- he'd 3 missed texts from his editor.

"Fuck," he said as he dropped back onto the bed. He could still smell the chef's scent on his sheets, all over him, consuming him. But after last night-- could he just go back to work there in the restaurant? The thought made him itchy, and something turned deep in his stomach.

So Julian tore the dirty sheets off the bed, stuffed them into a hamper, and took a cold shower, determined to hit his deadline from home. That way there'd be nothing but his memories to distract him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please use that pickup line with extreme caution; I'm fucking serious.
> 
> Chapter 2 is on the way! In the meantime, you can find me on tumblr @witchertrashbag!


	2. Say You Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which these idiots get the fuck they actually want. In the rom-comiest rom-dram I have ever written, *Selina Meyers laughs* what the fuck??? There’s literally domestic fluff at one point???

Julian shut himself away for the rest of the week, subsisting on ramen packets and tea and occasionally, feverishly, remembering to rehydrate, determined to put the chef out of his mind.

Of course: Trish texted him.

_Where are you?_

_What happened?_

and

_We're opening tomorrow you little shit, you better be there._

Julian put her on DND.

But he'd made it-- pushed save for the last time, hit send, even remembered to include his attachments. It was in, and his editor, Nico, was glowing about it.

Now, he ignored Nico and finally glanced at Trish's most recent texts:

_Fucking E-MERGEN-CY!!!_ [4 alarm emojis]

_GET DOWN HERE, JULIAN!_

Shit. She'd sent them half an hour ago. And it was _the_ night-- the re-opening. Julian grabbed a cardigan and his keys and strode for the door. Whatever was going on with him, he needed to help his friend.

\--

Julian strode into the empty restaurant, the tables perfectly set, and heard music blaring from the kitchen, along with loud bangs and sounds.

_What the fuck?_

As he swung open the door, his nerves at seeing the chef again were gone when he realized what song was blaring:

**WHY DO YOU BUILD ME UP? (BUILD ME UP?) BUTTERCUP, BABY, JUST TO LET ME DOWN? (LET ME DOWN?) AND MESS ME AROUND AND THEN WORST OF ALL! (WORST OF ALL!) YOU NEVER CALL BABY, WHEN YOU SAY YOU WILL? (SAY YOU WILL!) BUT I LOVE YOU STILL!**

Julian turned and saw the chef, sweaty and furious, with kitchen implements thrown everywhere.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" he yelled over the sound.

Those intense eyes flicked immediately to him, bewildered. The music switched off.

"What are you doing here?" it came, like an accusation.

"Trish texted me. What the fuck are _you_ doing?"

No response.

"Are you trying to ruin her big night?"

"Needed to reorganize."

"You're throwing a fucking tantrum is what you're doing. It's 3:30, you have two hours and then you have to deliver, do you hear me? Trish has put her entire soul into this place and if you're the thing that fucks it up-- I! I'll kick your ass!"

Julian turned and found the chef staring at him, slightly amused at the idea of Julian kicking his ass, but also... a little hurt?

"What? What is it?" Julian asked him dismissively. But the chef just started picking up the things he'd thrown around the kitchen, cleaning up, practically pouting.

"If anything I should be the one pouting," said Julian.

"I'm not pouting."

"You _are_ pouting, and I should be; I look really good when I pout."

"And why should you?"

A strangled noise gurgled in Julian's throat. "Because you _left_ , remember? You used me, fucked the sanity right out of me, and then you just fucking left."

"What's my name, Julian?"

Uhh... that one actually had Julian on the back foot. As he realized he did not actually know the chef's name.

"You never asked. You ignored me for days. And you're feeling used?"

"Wh--. I didn't--ah. I'm so sorry I didn't ask. I think I was... overwhelmed."

"Not really an apology," the chef said, now scrubbing a ladle furiously.

"No, I want you to understand. I just... I didn't think you'd ever go for someone like-- not someone like-- I didn't think you'd want me. And I guess with the surprise... I'm sorry. Please tell me your name?"

But the chef pouted and scrubbed harder.

"You can go," he told Julian.

"Of course," Julian told him. "I-- this is your space. I'm sorry." He turned to go.

"I had to go to the fish market," the chef explained. "At five. I gave you a kiss but you were out cold."

"The aforementioned sanity having been fucked out of me."

The chef gave him a long, appraising look. "You really don't know anything about me."

"I'd like to," said Julian. "Can I start with your name?"

"Hmm," grunted the chef.

"I could just check a menu, actually, come to think-- but I want to hear it from you."

The chef looked up at him. The kitchen was mostly put back together.

"It's Geralt."

" _Geralt_ ," repeated Julian, savoring the words like he savored everything about his man. "I know you have a big night tonight, but I'm hoping... will you let me get to know you after?"

Geralt looked over at him.

"Okay."

"Good, because I honestly can't decide between your food or your cock, what's the best thing I've ever had in my mouth."

"Julian?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

"Yeah. Right."

\--

The night was a huge success, and at midnight when Julian waited by the back door, by _Geralt_ 's motorcycle-- _Geralt_ , he couldn't stop thinking or saying the name, feeling it on his tongue-- he was just in time to watch the last of the busboys and sous chefs and pastry chefs, their eyes sparkling, call out their goodbyes with a waved hand and head into the night. 

Last of all came Geralt, two enormous trash bags in his massive hands, his biceps easily lifting the weight and carrying them to the dumpster, and Julian wondered how he ever thought this man was a diva.

Julian cleared his throat and Geralt turned around, still buzzing with the energy of the evening, sweaty in the crisp air.

"Geralt.” He wasn’t sure if he made up the way the chef seemed to tingle as he said his name. “I don't want to push it but... is now too soon?"

Geralt hummed as though pondering as he walked over, grabbed his jacket and helmet, and locked the back door.

He tossed the helmet to Julian.

"If you want," he said with a sly smile.

Julian did want. Julian slipped the helmet over his head as Geralt hopped on the motorcycle. Once Julian was seated snugly behind him, his arms wrapped against that glorious torso, the bike roared to life and Geralt eased them out of the alley and down the street.

\--

Julian's body buzzed with the sensation of wrapping around Geralt well after they made it to their destination.

"I go there to let off some steam, especially in this job. But all the people I meet-- everyone looks at me and sees a top, a dom, whatever label they wanna put on me. Like..."

"Leather daddy?" Julian offered meekly.

"Is that what you thought?"

"No, not really. You looked... just really hot."

They were drinking beers, sitting on the back porch of Geralt's house-- modest, decorated with a very "found objects" vibe-- not what Julian expected. Even more unexpected was the babysitter Geralt had thanked and paid when they arrived-- his adopted daughter, Siri, really his god-daughter, was asleep inside. Hence the back porch. A shaggy Akita named Roach was curled up faithfully at Geralt's side.

"Most guys-- women, too-- see me and expect me to dominate them."

"I guess that _is_ what I expected," admitted Julian. "But that's... not what you want?" He glanced up through his eyelashes at the man, sipping his beer, keenly aware of his hand along the thin neck of the bottle and his lips puckered as he sipped from the rim.

"Hmm," was all he got in response. Then: "It's late; you must be hungry." And Geralt began to get up and go inside, Julian trailing him through the door, letting Roach in after to rush inside, scurrying off into the rest of the dark house.

"I'm fine, really," Julian protested as Geralt washed his hands and carefully laid out his knives. It was clear these things were precious to him, the way he lifted and wielded the chef's knife like it was an extension of his body.

"Just a little snack," Geralt said, chopping some herbs.

"Are you sure? You just cooked for like five hundred people."

"How about a little omelet?" Geralt asked. "Please, Julian. I want to feed you."

Something in the heat of those words stopped Julian's protests short.

"What about Siri? What if she hea--um, hears me?" Julian finished meekly, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

Geralt stopped grabbing ingredients and pondered this. "Consider it a challenge," he decided. "I want to watch you eat."

Julian swallowed hard as heat began to pool low in his torso.

"So you don't-- ahh-- bring many guys back here?" Julian asked and why was his voice going high like that?

Geralt shot him a look. "We _just_ talked about this."

"Right, right. The labels, et cetera."

Julian realized he'd never actually seen the man cook as he took a moment to really drink Geralt in. As confoundingly hot as he'd looked in the club, a disheveled, anachronistic sex god, here in his own kitchen, his hair half up in a sloppy bun, an apron barely containing his broad chest and shoulders, his Henley pushed up over his thick forearms, his boots kicked off, revealing socks with a hole in the toe...

Julian took a deep breath and shifted his pants a little, willing the beginnings of his erection to go the fuck away. He cleared his throat: "You know, I kinda thought you'd see me that way, too. Not-- not as a top or whatever, but... I saw you turn away this twink who looked just like me--"

"That's not how I see either of you."

"Well, now that I know how anti-label you are--"

"That guy wanted what they usually want."

"And you thought we'd do something different, but then we... didn't."

"Hmm." Geralt gently whisked the eggs, his forearms rippling with the delicate, practiced turn of his wrist, before he tipped the bowl towards a waiting skillet. He was all precision and ease in the kitchen, and Julian felt his pants tighten again as he watched him effortlessly make the omelet.

"You just," Geralt continued, and Julian could swear he saw a blush creep across his cheek. "You seemed so eager, the way you got onto the bed... I realized that's what you wanted."

"But before, you thought... you wanted me to...? Take you?" Julian offered, awkwardly, breathlessly, and suddenly the room felt so warm, overly warm-- why would anyone keep their house this warm?

"Yeah," said Geralt as he tipped the omelet onto a plate and set it before Julian, who swallowed again, loudly, the food before him a tantalizing threat. Geralt sprinkled it with a little Maldon sea salt and said: "Go ahead, eat."

Geralt took a seat and simply watched as Julian picked up his fork and nervously settled a bite into his mouth.

He inhaled sharply.

"Fuckkk, how do you do this? How do you--?" And another swallow, and he groaned softly. He glanced at Geralt and found a soft smile on his lips. "Oh, enjoying yourself are you?"

"Yes," said Geralt simply, and Julian's stomach jumped at the directness, the softness. He tried to engross himself in the eggs, perfectly set at the edge of gooey, at the sharp hit of the flakey salt on top, the herbs within. But he found himself engrossed, instead, in Geralt. The ease on his face, the crinkles around his eyes-- and then the man fucking licked his lips.

Julian almost choked. Geralt had told him what he wanted. But did he want it... now?

"Well," he started, clearing his throat. "If you really want to challenge me to keep quiet, I can think of a few ways to up the ante," he finished awkwardly, but sat back and slowly spread his knees apart, managing to look Geralt dead in the eye as he did so.

Geralt's eyes lit the fuck up; a small smirk crossed his lips as though he could barely believe it. He slowly sank to his knees on his kitchen floor.

"Ah-ah-ah," Julian said, shaking his head no. "Shirt off. I intend to make you feel used in an entirely different way tonight."

The chef honest-to-god blushed as he untied his apron and peeled the Henley off his body, showing himself off for the writer. Julian tilted his head to the side, letting Geralt watch him devour his broad shoulders and thick arms, the muscles that led his eye straight to his crotch, then devilishly added:

"Pants, too. The apron can stay on. For now."

He could see Geralt's Adam's apple shift as he swallowed, hard. And a moment later, Julian could see why: the apron he'd tied back around his waist did nothing to hide his erection. Julian prayed for strength as Geralt returned to his position on his knees before Julian.

Julian took another bite of the omelet and couldn't help but let out a short, punching moan again at the taste.

"It's getting cold," he said impudently.

Geralt nimbly undid Julian's trousers and moved them away from his own hard on, resting his great hands on Julian's thighs before looking up at him with eyes that seemed to glow, his mouth softly open.

" _Oh_ ," Julian said, somehow unprepared for the sight of this powerful man utterly subservient to him in his own home, at Julian's whim, a plaything in his apron.

That's when Geralt took him into his mouth, softly working around the tip of his dick and _humming._

Julian let out a deep groan before he caught himself, remembering the game-- and the very real need for it. Geralt glanced up at him with an evil grin and continued to tongue over the tip and around the crest of his dick, still humming softly to himself. Julian could see the man's powerful back at the ready, the round fullness of his ass peeking out of the apron.

The omelet was utterly forgotten.

Julian gently stroked his hands through Geralt's hair, testing, and was rewarded with delicious, soft noises, so he continued, scratching against his scalp, then gave a handful a sharp tug.

He got a deep groan as he brought Geralt's face up, saw the ache in his eyes.

"You're very good," he praised him, "But how much can you take?"

Geralt merely nodded, obediently, a sight that made Julian's stomach do flips again, and then he felt as Geralt slowly took his length down his throat. When he'd managed it, he made a proud hum which tingled incredibly around Julian, teasing another soft moan out of him he entirely forgot to stifle.

Julian set Geralt kneeling back on his thick thighs, easing himself out of his mouth. Geralt looked at him questioningly.

"I just really want to fuck you and I wanna fuck you _well_ , and do you happen to have a fully soundproofed room or something?" Julian asked.

"This is the farthest place from her room in the house," Geralt explained-- and was he? Was he nervous? "I'll--. Stay here, let me check that a few doors are shut..." and with that he stood in a sweeping, cat-like motion and silently crept out of the kitchen and down a dark hallway, his ass still peeking from the apron.

A moment later he returned and snugly closed the door to the kitchen.

"It's been a while since I've fucked someone's father," Julian told him with a smirk.

"Godfather," Geralt grumbled, and Julian found himself standing face-to-face with the chef as though drawn together again. They were of more similar heights than he’d thought or remembered, Geralt just an easy tip of his chin up for a kiss, barely a breath away. He softly ran a finger up Geralt's bare arm, breathing just above his collarbone, and traced his hand across his chest, brushing lightly against a nipple.

Geralt sucked in a breath, and Julian's eyes flicked up to his. He reached up and tilted Geralt into him for a kiss-- which quickly deepened, as hot and heavy as their kisses before, Geralt pressing and groping his hands against Julian: his sides, his ass, pulling them together, unable to get enough of him. Julian could've melted into this man, but he straightened, breaking the kiss, before he cleared his throat and told him:

"Against the counter."

Geralt's eyes were dark with desire as he nodded and handed Julian a small bottle from the pocket of his apron: lube. Julian eyed it as Geralt pressed up against the counter, letting his forearms rest on the top and arching his back, tilting his ass out, revealing thin streaks of dark hair. He looked-- fuck, he looked so hot like that, so desperate for Julian. Julian set the lube on the counter.

"I want to watch you get ready," he told him, testing, waiting to see if he'd be up for it. Geralt swallowed hard and silently took the lube, squeezing some onto his fingers. He coated them single-handedly, until they were slick and shiny, then arched his back more and slowly eased a finger in, glancing back at Julian to watch his reaction.

Julian kept a solid grip on his own dick watching the man, a reminder to keep calm, keep control.

"Good, good," he praised him quietly with the second and third fingers he pressed inside, and Geralt blushed hard. His breathing was heavy; he looked absolutely debauched. Julian couldn't stand it.

"Are you ready?" Julian asked quietly, and Geralt nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Yes-- please," came his quiet reply as he quickly cleaned his fingers on a dishcloth.

Julian closed the distance between them and slowly untied Geralt's apron strings. Geralt hissed as Julian pressed his dick to rest between his ass cheeks as he smoothed his hands up Geralt's sides, feeling his powerful thighs, and up to his waist. Julian nudged Geralt to turn around to face him, and he did.

"I want to see you, Geralt," Julian said, and Geralt dipped his head slightly to let him remove the apron, leaning back against the counter.

Geralt's dick was purpled with arousal, slick and touch-starved. His messy bun had almost completely fallen out from Julian's rough tugs on his hair; his body blushed up to his cheeks and heaved with his breath.

"Please," he asked Julian again.

Julian kissed him and let Geralt pull off his cardigan, then unbutton his shirt quickly, kissing him again-- he sighed as those large hands roamed his torso freely, pressing and groping and--

He sucked in a hiss as Geralt's finger flicked over his nipple, smiled into their kiss and found Geralt smirking back.

Julian stepped back and pulled a condom out of his trousers, then stepped out of them and let them and his underwear fall to the kitchen floor. 

"I'll fuck that smirk off your face," he promised, and a dark look flickered over Geralt's face again, as Julian slid the condom down his length.

Julian kissed him deeply, pressing him back and on top of the counter. Geralt leaned back languidly on his forearms, his torso on full display, and let Julian lift his great thighs up as he pressed his cock against the chef.

Geralt's eyes glistened with eagerness. "Please, Julian," he whispered again, and Julian watched him, determined not to miss a second of this man's arousal as he slowly, testingly pressed into him.

The groan Geralt gifted him with shuddered through Julian's body. He began to work into a slow rhythm, carefully tilting and pressing and watching Geralt closely for a sign he'd found--

" _Ffffuck_ ," said Geralt quietly, his back arching against Julian, his hands pressing against Julian's ass, gripping them together.

Julian pulled back and thrust in again, trying to hit that spot--

" _Oh fuck, harder,_ " Geralt began to whine.

"Shhh," reminded Julian, and he slipped two fingers into Geralt's mouth to quiet him. Fuck, the sight of him, getting fucked with those fingers in his mouth, his body tensed and so so desperate, his dick hard between them-- he was so hot and tight, Julian wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

Julian held hard to Geralt's hip as he kept thrusting into him, but slipped his fingers from Geralt's mouth and trailed them down his chest-- flicking a nipple-- and Geralt sucked in a breath.

"Please, _Julian_ \--" he said quietly, and Julian almost lost it right there, hearing his name said _like that_ , by this man. But he nodded, brushing his hand across Geralt's abs and palming his leaking cock.

"Are you ready?" Julian asked, and Geralt just nodded rapidly, trying to stifle his moans as Julian kept rolling his hips into him.

"Tell me," Julian demanded.

"Julian--" and Julian lost it and came, hard, biting into Geralt's shoulder to stifle his moans, thrusting hard and fast into him as he rode out his orgasm, so hard he could barely remember his name. All he could feel was Geralt, closing around him, holding him in his arms.

With a deep breath, he slid out, tossing the condom into the trash.

He looked back at Geralt, still so hot, looking thoroughly wrecked, his arousal hard and deep. Julian eased him off the counter and onto his feet, kissing him deeply, then sank to his knees again.

Julian slipped his tongue around the top of Geralt's dick and took it into his mouth, then pressed two fingers into his loosened ass, pressing against--

Geralt let out a muffled whine, a hand gripped Julian's hair, and his eyes were desperate, pleading.

"I'm--"

And he was over the edge, and Julian caught him, fucking his ass with his fingers while he swallowed hard, greedy for every last drop of this man's pleasure. With a final slurp of his tongue, Julian sat back on his heels, absolutely satisfied at the filthy picture Geralt painted before him. He stood and kissed him, running his clean fingers along his perfect jaw, noting how Geralt gave himself over completely to him yet again.

"Let's get you cleaned up, pick up your clothes," he told him softly, and Geralt _hmm_ 'd in disagreement but didn't resist, letting Julian watch as he bent to pick up the clothing dispersed in the room.

They crept down the hallway and Geralt led them into a modest, grey bedroom. Julian sank immediately into the bed, and a moment later Geralt joined him, letting him snuggle into his chest and drag his fingers through the hair there.

“Thanks, buttercup,” Geralt said, tipping a finger down to boop Julian on the nose. Julian snorted a chuckle and came up for a rough kiss.

“Happy to...help?”

“Fuck,” said Geralt. And as they laid there, Julian knew what exactly he meant. _Fuck._

\--

The next morning, Geralt was gone. Julian awoke in the strange room, clear evidence (and then there were the aches) of last night's reality.

He found a t-shirt and sweatpants, neatly folded and sitting at the foot of the bed.

Julian slipped them on, groggy, and padded down the hallway to the quiet noises coming from the kitchen.

Geralt was inside, showered and dressed, laughing with a little girl with curly blonde hair and wide blue eyes. Geralt's eyes immediately jumped to Julian's and he smiled quietly, nervously.

"You’re awake. Siri, this is daddy's friend Julian," he told the girl.

"Hi, Julian," she said shyly.

Geralt grinned and leaned toward her. "We were just about to make pancakes, would you like to join us, Julian?"

"Yayyyy pancakes!" shrieked Siri.

"Yeah," said Julian. "I'd love that." And he took a seat beside Siri and his pulse ticked up as he noticed Geralt slipping on that same apron. Geralt noticed, watching him with a smirk.

_Daddy?_ Julian mouthed to him, quirking an eyebrow, filing _that one_ away for later.

"Siri, guess what Julian does?"

"What do you do?"

"I'm a writer."

"Do you write stories about princesses?" she asked. And then, without pausing: "I do. I wrote a story about a princess who's scream is so powerful it can knock over _anything_ , so nobody can be mean to her. Wanna see it?"

"Maybe later, sweetheart," Geralt chided softly, flipping the pancakes.

"I would love to see it, Siri," said Julian. He noticed that nervous smile still on Geralt's face as he placed a plate before each of them. Julian brushed his fingers against Geralt's and caught his eye.

Then Julian realized another plate of Geralt’s food was before him. And he tried very hard to be quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was I supposed to do, name him "Gerald"???


End file.
